


eyes like coming home

by kuroken_lovechild



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5 Things, A bit of poetry, Feelings Realization, First Meetings, Fluff, High School, M/M, Mentioned Komi Haruki, Mentioned Konoha Akinori, Mentioned Washio Tatsuki, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Time skip in later chapters, akaashi as a literature major is my fave hc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28224843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuroken_lovechild/pseuds/kuroken_lovechild
Summary: The world had gone silent for him. For Bokuto Koutarou, as if they were waiting for him to address the crowd. Like a protagonist of a story, he would make the first call.There was a spotlight on Bokuto Koutarou, and by extension, on volleyball.——14-year old akaashi fell in love with the nameless boy leaping into the air22-year old akaashi is still in love—a situation his younger self never could have predicted.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	1. everything has changed

It wasn’t even a holiday. 

It was just an ordinary Friday afternoon, the weather was good, practice had just finished, and Akaashi had absentmindedly followed his teammate into one of the city gymnasiums. 

It wasn’t like he woke up that morning knowing his entire world was about to change.

Yet as he walked through the doors of that gym, the sight he was greeted with shook him to the core. 

“... _ A star _ ” was his first thought.

The second, 

“ _ Fuck I’m gay _ .” 

What he saw before him was a spiky-haired boy, clad in black and white and the number 12 and the brightest expression Akaashi had ever seen. The boy was in mid-air, arm rearing back to spike. 

For players on the court, there are instances when time seems to move in slow motion and everything becomes clearer, like a picture being sharpened pixel by pixel. The ball, the spikers approaching from every side, the speed of their runs, the opponent blockers, the strategy. It’s the information overload that Akaashi’s experienced so many times before as a setter.

But this was different, he wasn’t even  _ on _ the court this time, just a passing spectator to the star of the show. 

And time hadn’t slowed. It had stopped completely. 

Akaashi’s third thought was, “ _ He looks like he belongs up there _ ,” before the boy slammed the ball home, past three blockers and winning his team the point.

It wasn’t the match point or even set point, but the boy and his team celebrated like they had just won Nationals. It was the first time Akaashi had ever seen anyone play volleyball in such a way, with so much passion and excitement he could barely stand it.

The game continued, with the boy—who was called Bokuto Koutarou apparently, according to the whispering students beside him—continuing to score in that weird, cinematic, extraordinary way of his. 

Every time he scored, his teammates would ruffle his hair and give him a high five. And every time Akaashi’s fingers would tingle with the  _ need _ to have a ball in his hands, to be out there on the court with them. With him in particular, Bokuto Koutarou, who made it look like volleyball was the greatest thing ever invented.

Akaashi knew he was staring—his eyes were wide with awe and his mouth falling open so often that he looked like a gaping fish—but at that moment, he couldn’t give a single fuck about how stupid he looked. He could even hear his teammate gasping and cheering in response to the match, but he felt faraway, voice distorted as if he were underwater. 

Akaashi had a one-track mind and it was currently fixated on Bokuto Koutarou.

And suddenly, with a powerful spike from a player who was  _ not _ Bokuto Koutarou, the match ended with Fukurodani’s win. Bokuto Koutarou beamed nonetheless and engulfed the grinning senpai in a hug, and Akaashi’s eyes still hadn’t left him.

_ Go to him _ , a small part of his mind whispered like a devil on his shoulder,  _ introduce yourself and compliment his playing.  _

For a split second Akaashi actually considered it, before-

_ “Tell him you think he’s cute” _ and Akaashi had to physically shake his head to clear it, the tips of his ears heating up a little.

The match was over and the moment was gone, so Akaashi expected to return to his normal, detached, done-with-life looking self. His teammate was excitedly yapping about wanting to get the players’ autographs and Akaashi turned to remind him that they were just high school students, not professional athletes. 

But then he looked back at Bokuto Koutarou who was currently pouring water all over himself and still smiling while dripping from head to toe, and flushed.

_ No _ , he chided himself,  _ a total stranger approaching to give an unwanted compliment is invasive and creepy.  _ He hurriedly ushered his teammate out the door, still feeling like he was recovering from a daze. 

_ But _ , he snuck a glance once again through the doorway into the gymnasium, _ I want to see him again and set to him one day.  _

_ Fukurodani, huh. _

With those thoughts on loop in his head, Akaashi bid goodbye to his teammate and began the walk to the train station, making a short detour to a nearby convenience store. The speakers blasted an English pop song that the girls in his class kept raving about, but he paid it no mind. The pounding of his heart was much too loud for him to hear anything else.

He walked to the station, threw his empty onigiri wrapper in the bin, and boarded the train like it was a normal day. And it  _ was _ a normal day, if not for the turmoil swirling in Akaashi’s gut.

He quickly took a seat in the rapidly-filling subway, but even the guilt of depriving an elderly person from a few minutes of comfort wasn’t enough to suppress the giddy feeling bubbling in his chest. 

(He supposed he should have felt more guilty about that, but societal manners and morals weren’t exactly on his mind at the moment.) 

Barely suppressing a smile that gave the tiniest curl to his lips, Akaashi took out his phone and began to think.

_ Hmm. What does he remind me of? _ His brain immediately supplied him with “ _ A star.”  _

God, he didn’t even know the guy, and he was already thinking like this. Akaashi already knew he felt different from the other boys in his class who openly talked about what type of girl they liked. A year ago, he came across the term “gay” on the internet and felt immediate understanding. 

But _fuck_ _stop imagining a future with every boy you find attractive._

He bit his lip.  _ Shut up. Focus. _

So, a star. The term did seem to match Bokuto Koutarou perfectly, he shone bright and stood out even among the rest of the undoubtedly talented players. Even off the court, Akaashi had felt drawn to him for a reason he couldn’t put a finger on. 

_ “He felt…magnetic _ ,” Akaashi thought, and typed a few words into the notes app of his phone.

_ A shooting star;  _

_ Looking like what dreams and wishes and desires are made of _

_ The Sun;  _

_ Giving life and hope and pulling every planet into its orbit  _

If anyone else read the lines he’d just typed, they’d think Akaashi were listing types of stars and describing them way too dramatically, instead of a poem about a boy who’d caught his eye playing volleyball one afternoon. 

Well, he was fine with that. No one else had to read and critique his work after all. Akaashi wrote solely for himself and his eyes to see. 

Still, he pondered as he chewed on a fingernail, there was a line he wanted to write that captured a part of what he was feeling completely. The problem was it didn’t match the tone of the first two stanzas.

_ Well, I guess inconsistency can be beautiful too, in a way.  _ Thinking back to the books and literature he’d read in his spare time, he mentally shrugged.  _ Fuck it. _

_ The North Star; _

_ You make me want to leave everything behind _

_ And see what you hold. _

And wow, that sounded too gay and dramatic for Akaashi’s liking, he thought as he signed it with a simple “ _ A.K. _ ”

He leaned his chin on one hand and looked out the train window, at his faded reflection and the blurry cityscape rushing by, sighing in resignation. 

This was the longest train ride of Akaashi’s life. He wasn’t even at his destination yet.

——

(“I’ve decided to go to Fukurodani Academy for High School.”

“That’s wonderful, Keiji. What made you sure of your decision?”

“It seemed like the best choice after a great deal of thought.”

“Good. Make sure you don’t regret it.”

“Yes.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! This is the product of my bokuaka brainrot and my 4 am brain so . hopefully you enjoyed :) 
> 
> I’m gonna try to update this as fast as I can but I can’t guarantee it’ll be really fast since juggling school and writing is .. hard as hell,,,, but thank u if you’re willing to be patient and stick with me <3333
> 
> comments are very appreciated i love you


	2. sparks fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> his first impression was that of a star. what will the second be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR!! god bless ao3 for existing in this shitshow of a week of 2021. anyway thank you for reading hope you’re all safe, physically and mentally <3

The afternoon of his first day at Fukurodani Academy had Akaashi stuck in a mental battle outside the doors of the third gymnasium. 

Inhale.  _ Calm down, they won’t bite. _

Exhale.  _ But what if they do and you’ll be stuck for three years playing a sport you had little interest in until a few months ago and they find out somehow. _

Inhale.  _ It’ll be fine. You’re always irrational before meeting new people.  _

Exhale.  _ Bokuto Koutarou will be there too- _

A loud laugh suddenly pierced through the air, effectively cutting through his spiraling thoughts. Akaashi let out one last breath to steel himself, and gently slid open the door.

He didn’t know what he expected to see, maybe a blinding light illuminating his face and spilling out the doorway, and choirs of angels singing in the background. Or maybe a scene like the other time he fatally stepped inside a gym to witness Bokuto Koutarou in all his glory. They inspired the same feelings inside Akaashi, anyway.

Whatever it was, he didn’t expect to see…a gym. 

Which was stupid, in retrospect. What could a perfectly normal high school in the middle of busy Tokyo be hiding inside one of their buildings? That was a whole trope for every generic shounen manga that Akaashi read in secret. 

Quickly, he turned to bow to the members already practicing and warming up. One of them stopped in the middle of a serve and made his way over—likely the captain. He greeted Akaashi with a warm smile and led him to the center of the gym, just beside the court.

“Everyone, stop what you’re doing and gather around! I’d like to introduce one of our new first years.”

Akaashi watched as most of the players curiously and excitedly approached, clearly obeying out of respect (or fear) for their captain. Only a few were the exception, but they were located at the far end of the gym and Akaashi couldn’t get a good glimpse at their numbers.

“There are other first years coming, but you can introduce yourself while they aren’t—“

_ SMACK! _

Flying in from nowhere and slamming straight into the captain’s face at full speed was a bright yellow volleyball from the other side of the court. For a full five seconds it was deafeningly quiet, and Akaashi could only stare as the captain turned stony-faced and gripped the ball in his hands.

“BOOOOOKUTOOOOO!” 

Everyone visibly jumped, including Bokuto Koutarou, the boy in question. He immediately ran over and fell into a dogeza. “I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I’M SORRY!”

Faintly, Akaashi heard laughter and tore his eyes away from the very large body kneeling on the floor. Two other players stood doubled over and clutching their sides in laughter behind the net.

“OI KONOHA, KOMI. DON’T THINK YOU’RE GETTING OUT OF THIS.” The captain nodded at another player who stood close by. “Washio.” 

Washio gave the tiniest of sighs and proceeded to drag the other two by the backs of their jerseys, hauling up Bokuto Koutarou as well. 

Sighing in defeat, the captain tiredly turned back to Akaashi. “Sorry about that, go ahead.” 

_ Ah, so this is the kind of team Fukurodani has.  _ “I am Akaashi Keiji, from Mori Middle School. I played setter. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he spoke, fighting back amusement.

In the corner of his eye, he saw something (someone?) twitch at his mention of the word “setter”. But the resounding echo of “ _ Yoroshiku! _ ” and the pats on his back stopped him from questioning it too far.

Practice proceeded without a hitch, with Akaashi joining in the drills and sitting on the sidelines for the moment to observe how the players worked during three-on-threes. 

That was fine, he would make good use of this time to observe everyone properly.

Fingers idly tapping on his knees, he silently watched.  _ The captain and their starting setter have good combinations. It’s clear they practice together a lot to achieve that kind of synchronization.  _

_ Their second-year libero is good too. He’s able to receive even from rough spots and send them perfectly to the setter.  _

His eyes roamed to the other side of the net.  _ And next— _

Akaashi let out a soft gasp. Any coherent thoughts he had lingering flew out of his brain because Bokuto Koutarou was  _ right there _ and he was spiking and it’s just like that volleyball match he saw last year and-

_ He’s the ace.  _

All too sudden, Akaashi’s fingers twitched again with the urge to play and stand on the court. He stared with barely concealed admiration at the boy, now in the #4 jersey, playing with such passion and heat behind every move. 

He watched as Bokuto Koutarou crouched waiting for a receive. He watched as literal fire burned behind those golden eyes.

It was as if Akaashi’s mind and body had made a decision before telling him what it was. He  _ knew _ he was supposed to observe the other players he would eventually be setting to, but his gaze was once again enraptured by spiky hair and the number four.

But halfway through the match, he noticed that…Bokuto Koutarou’s demeanor had changed from the lively, energetic, sunny player he had pegged him to be. He saw quite a lot of moments, in fact, when his whole aura seemed to glow dimmer, and his hair would droop with the rest of him.

He raised an eyebrow as Bokuto Koutarou served straight into the net and proceeded to drop face first into the floor to moan pitifully. 

“Don’t mind, we’ll get the next one!”

“Oh god, again?!”

“Oi Bokuto, get yourself together!” 

“You’re doing so well, Bokuto-san!” 

But Bokuto Koutarou responded to none of these comments and whispers. He stood back up with a pout and a dejected look in his eyes that was nowhere to be found a few seconds ago. 

_ Huh, that was…something.  _

So Bokuto Koutarou wasn’t the all-round perfect player he looked on the outside. He was incredibly talented and had a powerful spike, and played like no one Akaashi had ever seen before, but he seemed to be one for the theatrics, especially on the court.

Surprisingly, it didn’t bother Akaashi as much as he knew it should have. The only thing tugging at his gut was the look on Bokuto Koutarou’s crestfallen face and the complete lack of energy afterwards. 

It felt…weird seeing him that way, like his stomach was placed in a blender. 

As the 3-on-3 drew to a close, the boy in question seemed to grow antsy and more impulsive with his movements. He jumped up and slammed the ball down before it even reached the setter on his side. The initial receive was dodgy and too short, and it was a miracle his spike even made it in.

But that seemed to do the trick in getting Bokuto Koutarou’s spirits up. He hooted and cheered and clapped his teammates on the back like he wasn’t a completely snuffed out candle mere minutes ago. 

How intriguing. Akaashi almost let out a laugh before he caught himself.

Practice ended before any of them knew it, and Akaashi silently got up to help clean up the gym. He wasn’t  _ disappointed _ , per se, he just very slightly, maybe, in the back of his mind, wished that he’d gotten to toss at least once.

_ Oh well, there’s always tomorrow, _ he thought before he heard a throat being cleared behind him.

“Hey, um, Akashi-kun.” 

His mouth opened on reflex and blurted “It’s  _ Akaashi _ ,” before finally turning around.

And when he did, he froze.

_ It’s. Bokuto. Koutarou. _

He felt like he had been electrocuted. Every part of him felt simultaneously numb and on alert. His heart leaped up into his throat and his brain buzzed with the words “Bokuto Koutarou” on repeat, that he almost didn’t hear the question said boy had just asked. 

“Could you please help me practice spikes for just a liiiiiiiitle bit?” Bokuto Koutarou smiled, cocking his head like a puppy and Akaashi nodded before he could consider anything else. 

_ He’s even brighter up close. _

Bokuto Koutarou broke out into a wide grin, running off to the now-empty court. “Yahoo! Thanks Akashi-kun! Let’s go!” 

Akaashi carefully put down the mop he was holding. Walking to the court, he had to refrain himself from pinching his arm to check if he was dreaming. 

_ This is it, your first toss in Fukurodani, _ he thought, fingers poised above his head to set the ball Bokuto Koutarou had thrown into the air.

Akaashi loved setting. Even if he didn’t necessarily  _ love _ volleyball itself until recently, the feeling of the ball pressing into his waiting fingers and the almost gentle yet aggressive way he forces it to fight against gravity for a few more seconds is one he’d come to crave. 

_ Ah, that felt good. _

And suddenly, a resounding smack against the floor as his ball was spiked had goosebumps running all the way from Akaashi’s arms to the top of his head. He turned to watch as Bokuto Koutarou came down from his jump with a wild, animalistic look in his eyes, a predator watching prey. 

_ Wait.  _

Akaashi froze again.  _ I just set to  _ Bokuto Koutarou _.  _

The thought had always been in the back of his mind, like a siren’s song that lured men to their deaths. Something to long for, but always out of reach.

In his desperation and longing to set for Bokuto Koutarou at least once in his life, he’d temporarily forgotten that he was…a member now. It hit him fully after that spike Bokuto gave to his toss, a spike that felt way too personal and intimate for Akaashi’s well-being.

He grinned, giving Akaashi a high-five, “Again!” And Akaashi found himself breathless in his reply. “Yes, Bokuto-san.” 

They set an unspoken routine that afternoon, Bokuto throwing the ball before starting his run up, Akaashi watching from the corner of his eye as he lifted it off his fingertips.

But for all that Akaashi loved setting and had desperately wanted to toss the whole day, he’d confess, far off in the future, that he wasn’t exactly focused that first afternoon. He reprogrammed his mind to run in two parallels—one on the ball and his own body’s actions, and one on the spiker he’d wishfully sought after. 

Bokuto was so…close. And he was even brighter than when Akaashi had first seen him, like meeting him, hearing him talk, watching him in person both on and off the court had only amplified his luminosity. 

Then Bokuto was taking off again and that half of Akaashi’s brain, and maybe a little bit more, ceased all rational thought to stare at him. How sweat clung to his face and dripped down to his collarbones, how his thigh muscles bulged in that fraction-of-a-second squat before the jump, how he kicked off the ground with a  _ squeak _ and a  _ bang _ . Bokuto’s gaze never left the ball, he actively  _ chased _ it with bottomless hunger.

Akaashi felt his mouth go dry and his breath slowly escape as he went through all the motions of tossing. His own body was on auto-pilot. And Bokuto reached for the ball like he was reaching for the sun, but the impact of his spike was a meteor crash. 

Hours that felt like minutes passed and Akaashi bent over to catch his breath, looking like he ran in a typhoon, mentally cursing his past self for letting this “short practice” get this far. Bokuto turned to him with a cry of “AH-KA-SHI!”

He looked up with what little energy he had left, and noticed a few more things about Bokuto. 

“Your tosses are the best!!”

_ Ah— _

Bokuto mouth was  _ huge _ . It took up nearly half of his face and on another person his smile might have looked too wide, too exaggerated, but on him it was just right. His teeth showed and his lips stretched out as wide as they could, like the space wasn’t enough to hold the happiness inside. His eyebrows were slightly less prominent, but they moved as much as Bokuto himself did and called just as much attention.

His eyes crinkled when he smiled, Akaashi wasn’t sure if they were completely shut or if there was a small gap there that Bokuto could still see out of. He hoped it wasn’t the latter, or his burning face would be a dead giveaway. 

_ Setting to Bokuto Koutarou was a spiritual experience. _

“Ah, sure,” he muttered, as if he were capable of saying anything else. 

They settled back into the routine of run-toss-spike, still stiff and unfamiliar, like a brand new pair of volleyball sneakers. But Akaashi felt like he was floating on clouds. 

His heart grew warmer along with his hands with every toss of the ball into Bokuto’s waiting arms, and in the back of his mind, he thought,  _ Ah, is this what happiness feels like.  _

Many tosses later, when the sun had gone down completely and the cool evening wind blew in through the windows, and Akaashi’s arms felt like they were one toss away from snapping off, he finally got the urge to tell Bokuto they should stop for the day. 

_ (Definitely out of necessity, and lack of energy on the second day of practice at a new school would leave a bad impression, thank you very much.) _

“Aww, I wanted to hit one more.” Bokuto pouted, twirling the ball in his hands.

_ His hair really does droop when he’s sad.  _ Akaashi shook his head. He needed to stay strong. “It’s too late Bokuto-san, we’ll both miss the trains if we stay any later.” 

He continued to pout, and Akaashi sighed. “We…can practice together again tomorrow, if you’d like.”

At that, Bokuto perked up, eyes going wide. “Really, Akaashi? You promise? What about the day after too?!”

“Yes, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi smiled, as Bokuto leapt in the air with more energy than he should have had after a whole afternoon of running, jumping and spiking.  _ He really does resemble a puppy too. _

A bow, a promise, and a 20-minute train ride later, Akaashi found himself at home, rummaging through drawers that he’d recently cleaned out of.  _ Damn it, I knew throwing out everything was a bad decision.  _

He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the last empty notebook in his room, hidden under a pile of volleyball magazines he couldn’t bear to part with. He sat at his desk, took out his favourite pen, and put on one of his recently discovered singers for good measure.

The song echoed, filling the room with heavy guitar chords and a beat that slowly grew more persistent. Akaashi felt more at peace already. 

He stared at the first page of the notebook, pen pressed to his lips. 

Bokuto-san…was not the idol he’d labeled him to be. He wasn’t a god, a perfect specimen, a heavenly body that shone without end.

Instead, he was dramatic, sensitive, and immature. He probably fooled around too often and got reprimanded every single time, by a teacher, his senpai, anybody with a drop of impatience in their system. 

But he felt warm, and he was passionate about volleyball. So,  _ so _ very passionate that Akaashi worried for if that spark would ever disappear. Candles that burn the brightest are always the first to go, after all. 

Bokuto wasn’t perfect. But Akaashi found he rather liked that, how very  _ human _ he was.

He was curious to know Bokuto’s motivations and the spark to his flame. To know what kept him going and what brought him down, to know exactly why and how he played volleyball in _that_ _way_. 

Akaashi scribbled down, colourful lyrics ringing in the background.

_ you’re an instruction manual in a tongue i haven’t learned _

_ but I’ll try, and I’ll try, and I’ll try, _

_ until the language of stars come into fruition _

_ and i can recite every one of your constellations _

His cheeks flushed as he read the poem over. No, he barely knew what it meant, especially the last bit, but the words sounded and felt  _ right _ and he felt much too light and woozy to overthink it this time. 

No one would see anyway. 

He checked the clock.  _ 7 PM _ . He had some time before his parents would be calling him down to dinner.

“Star Report. Bokuto Koutarou: Strengths and Weaknesses” he wrote on a fresh page. Cheek resting on his hand, he began to list. 

——

(“Bokuto-san. Here, my cellphone number.”

“Eh? What for?”

“Just—in case you don’t feel up to extra practice one day. Please tell me in advance if that is the case.” 

“Akaaaaashi! I’ll always wanna practice some more spiking, especially with you tossing to me!!”

“You never know, Bokuto-san.”

“No, I’m sure! But you have to tell me if  _ you _ don’t feel like it, alright? I won’t get mad or anything!”

“...Okay.”) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is taylor swift a gay icon? i don’t know im too ace to have an opinion


	3. you are in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bokuto is the type of person that compels you to give your all, because you know he is giving his all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLOO BACK AGAIN WITH THESE PINING NERDS 🥳 once again thank you for the kudos and kind words they really help and encourage me while I juggle writing this fic with school shit 🥲 💕💕

The blow of the whistle. The cheers of the crowd. The squeaks of shoes against the wooden floor and the _slam_ of the volleyball as it fell from flight.

Every Fukurodani member had one thought in the back of their minds: the loss at Interhigh. 

It hadn’t been a close match, though some players would say it could have been, without their own lost points through a failed serve or some unfortunate accident. Their feelings of frustration as they wiped hot tears away with even hotter palms were burned into their mind like a brand.

For most members, that memory made them _fight_ , pushed their determination like a hidden power-up, enabling them to do their usual, but give _more_. 

Naturally, Bokuto was the exception.

As Akaashi had come to learn in the months they’ve been practicing together, both within hours and after, Bokuto was no ordinary player. 

Where other players would feel a certain hostility towards their opponent, Bokuto felt none of that. He felt good when he got points in, when the ball hit his hand just right. He liked to show off, to look cool in front of hundreds of people and have their eyes trained on him, but he’d never beg _them_ for it. He was incredibly genuine in everything he did, never putting up a mask nor bothering to hide his emotions at any point.

He was unpredictable. And right now he’d hit a wall.

Akaashi breathed hard as Kawahori High’s blockers shut down Bokuto’s third cross spike that day. He could see the latter beginning to deflate, the telltale signs of what the older players had dubbed “Bokuto’s Dejected Mode.” 

_Calm down. There’s still time. It’s only the first set._ He looked over at the scoreboard. Good. They were ahead by three points thanks to the others’ combos and plays, but Fukurodani would be in trouble soon if their ace didn’t get back on his feet. 

And personally, Akaashi’s insides squeezed whenever Bokuto fell into that state. 

He looked at the other players, silently asking for permission, then signaled to coach for a timeout. The antsy ones bounced in place, keeping their muscles warm, while regulars collapsed on the bench and chugged water like a dying fish. 

Except Bokuto, who stood off to the side with his head hanging low. 

Carefully, Akaashi approached him. He wasn’t too sure yet with how to comfort Bokuto, especially with situations where his pride and self-esteem were on the line. Bokuto nursed a water bottle between his lips and Akaashi reached out to touch, before faltering and calling his name instead.

“Bokuto-san, would you like to tell me what the problem is?” he asked, voice gentle but firm. 

Immediately Bokuto began to whine. “Aaaaaaaghhhhhhhkashi! They keep blocking my super inner cross shot, I don’t know what to do!”

 _Ah, so that’s the problem,_ Akaashi thought, relieved. They’d hit a wall just like this back in Interhigh, and he and Bokuto had worked through cold hours and wintry nights to perfect a countermeasure. It wasn’t…unexpected at least.

 _But still,_ a voice in the back of his mind whispered, _what if it doesn’t work and Fukurodani loses Bokuto-san couldn’t cheer up.  
_

Starting positions, hierarchies, and school years never really mattered to Akaashi. To him, volleyball was a series of plays—receive, toss, spike. All he had to do was consistently deliver to the best of his abilities, to help his better, much more talented teammates rise to new heights. Unlike Bokuto, he wasn’t one to strive, to strain to reach the top and be driven by unfounded pride.

But right now, seeing the spiker curled into himself, Akaashi felt smaller than ever with no one to inflate him.

Akaashi’s gaze dropped to the floor, suddenly less confident in what he’d been about to say. Fukurodani could probably win the set without Bokuto at his best, but what about the second set? Or the third? Could he really leave Bokuto restless and downtrodden for countless points?

No. He had to do this perfectly, it’s part of why he started writing in that notebook after all, to know Bokuto like the back of his hand, and to help him play at his best. 

“Bokuto-san.” He chose his words carefully. “Why have you been so adamant on using a cross today?” No, that’s too blunt, Bokuto would just feel even worse about himself, but he can’t take the words back now. Oh god, he can’t take it back, he’ll just have to hope for the best and that it’ll work somehow. _Please get back up._

Akaashi held his breath.

Then Bokuto’s head perked up and he looked at Akaashi with stars in his eyes.

“Akaashi, you’re a genius! You’re right! If I do a straight when they think I’m about t’do a cross, they can’t block me! You’re so smart, Akaashi.”

His face was completely open like Akaashi had told him all the secrets of the world, or maybe even Kuroo-san’s phone password. Akaashi blinked away his shock while an inkling of relief settled in his chest. 

“Thank you, Bokuto-san.”

And oh, something about Bokuto seemed so different from mere seconds ago. He gulped down the rest of his water with a noise of relief, and grinned at Akaashi with such confidence and honesty that he couldn’t help but nod along. 

”Let’s win them all, Akaashi.”

The air around Bokuto had noticeably shifted when they returned to the court. His back was straighter, his knees bent even lower and eyes _piercing_ through the net. 

_His eyes_ , Akaashi noted. The gold in them burned even brighter like a fire had lit underneath his irises, a supernova subdued under billions of twinkling stars. If looks could kill, Bokuto’s stare would’ve burned a hole through the opposing team’s server—he was focused, and intense.

Most of all, he was _quiet_. 

The ball flew over to their side with the shrill _beep_ of the referee’s whistle. Bokuto’s eyes followed it hungrily, from its steady landing on Konoha’s waiting arms to the ensuing rally between the two teams. Neither side was willing to concede, and his palms were starting to itch. 

_Not yet._ Out of the corner of his eye, Akaashi saw the blockers shift towards Bokuto—they were wary of him now, after their timeout that had clearly sparked something inside the ace. Bokuto looked antsy, like he could hit the ball any moment and blast through every wall in his path.

But a momentary pang of fear and doubt struck Akaashi’s heart. He was still scared. 

So he tossed to Washio instead.

But it was right before the spike, mere fractions of a second, that Akaashi saw the dash of experienced players, arms already stretching out above the net. 

“KOMI-SAN!” He yelled, as the blockers stopped Washio’s momentum. The spiked ball ricocheted off of Kawahori’s blockers, and time slowed to a crawl as it made its way to the floor. 

_No. Not yet._

_NOT YET!_

And suddenly Komi’s hand shot out of nowhere, an inch-thick layer between the ball and floor, sending it and Akaashi’s spirits high into the air.

“Nice, Akaashi-kun!” He yelled as the gymnasium roared.

Akaashi’s heart was pounding. One more chance. They had one more chance graciously given by their libero, and it’ll all be over if he fucked it up. Not quite literally, but Bokuto would have a hard time recovering for the rest of the match, and Akaashi couldn’t let that happen.

 _Fuck._ Should he toss to Bokuto, or shouldn’t he? Bokuto seemed ready, but the blockers knew he was there. They were aware of his presence, even more now compared to before. If he tossed and Bokuto got blocked again, he’d fall deeper into dejection. What was the best course of action? Fuck. _Fuck._

“AGHKAAASHI!” 

_(“Leave it to me, Akaashi!”)_

Bokuto leaped into the air, and Akaashi was already jumping to follow. With the perfect amount of pressure in his hands, learned from hours and hours of after-school practice together, he tossed the ball into Bokuto’s path. 

“Bokuto-san!”

_Perfect._

And with a resounding _smack_ from a straight shot that landed right on the borderline, the seconds that followed were completely silent, as if the entire gym held their breaths at the exact moment. 

Bokuto turned around slowly, still quiet. His arms were shaking, but the outline of his silhouette was encased in gold.

The world had gone silent for him. For Bokuto Koutarou, as if they were waiting for him to address the crowd. Like a protagonist of a story, _he_ would make the first call.

There was a spotlight on Bokuto Koutarou, and by extension, on volleyball. 

Bokuto clenched his fist and suddenly he was running, and Akaashi was running too, and the whole team was running towards the two of them and his mouth was wide open and Akaashi was out of breath but so, _so_ happy.

“ _ALRIGHHHTTTTTT_!” 

The audience went wild with applause. In the corner of his eye he could see the other team getting back up and glaring as if to say _it was just one point, don’t get cocky,_ but Akaashi couldn’t care less. 

It  _ was _ just one point, but it felt like a million. And Akaashi felt like he could do this forever and ever. He  _ wanted _ to do this forever, playing volleyball with a star by his side, tossing to him until his arms fell off, being strong and powerful and  _ together _ on top of the whole damn world.

Bokuto was the easiest person to play with, Akaashi thought, as his mind reeled and his heart pumped from adrenaline. There were the mood swings and the rollercoasters that they went through every game, but there was something about the way Bokuto played that put Akaashi at ease.

Maybe it was the run up to the spike, or the solid smack of every successful point sourced from Akaashi’s fingers, or the pure happiness emanating as he saw the ball coming to him.

(Maybe it was everything.)

(Maybe it was Bokuto himself.) 

As the cheers died down and their hands touched for a high five, another idle, fleeting thought swept through Akaashi’s mind.

_The court was not a place that I’d call home_

_Until I met you_

Bokuto pulled away, but not without one last beam at Akaashi. _Let’s win,_ it said, but also a _Thank you_. He didn’t understand why and what Bokuto was thanking him for, but he felt lighter than clouds. He repositioned back into a receiving stance, confidence flowing through his veins.

Bokuto’s point was indeed worth a million. His successful straight spike brought every Fukurodani player on top of their game, and they crushed Kawahori completely. They breezed through the end of the first set, and by the second set Akaashi had almost wanted to laugh.

He tossed to Bokuto on their second match point, and as he came down from his jump, Akaashi thought _he reminds me of when I first saw him play._

Then his eyes crinkled and his lips stretched wide into a rare smile because Bokuto had just scored the winning point. He was running over, and Akaashi already had his arms open.

_Galaxies and stars were for telescope views_

_Until i saw you_

_Shit_ , _that was so gay_ , but Akaashi shook his head and found he didn’t care. Bokuto was hugging him and his arms felt so good. He savored that speck of a second where they were alone, before the team was pouncing on them. 

Akaashi laughed openly for the first time in a while, under the pile of bodies and arms of his sweaty teammates. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this…included. 

They had won together. Including him. Akaashi Keiji, a first year inexperienced setter who didn’t even deserve his spot on the starter lineup over his far more skilled and exceptional upperclassmen. _His_ setting had contributed to the team’s victory, and he felt that rare spark of pride and confidence.

So different from his spiraling thoughts that something tugged in his gut, urging him to run away, _run away before they realize you’re_ just _Akaashi Keiji_ . _Before Bokuto-san realizes._ He pushed it down, reveling in the feeling of being _amazing_.

They separated to line up and shake hands with the other team. Akaashi fought back a smile that threatened to break through and plastered on his usual expression as he shook hands and bowed to the other setter. 

Kawahori’s setter looked to be a third year. He was tall, taller than Akaashi, and quite lean and muscular too ( _though_ _much, much less than Bokuto-san)._ He had a smile on his face, but Akaashi could see tears forming in the corner of his eyes. 

Akaashi gave another bow as the other setter’s smile started to wobble, a gesture of courtesy and a silent apology—because he knew what the other was probably feeling, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad about their win, not when he was this happy.

The other setter wiped his eyes and turned back to rejoin his team, so Akaashi picked his head up and did the same. He saw Bokuto in the corner of his eye, shaking the _shit_ out of another of Kawahori’s players’ arm, praising him in a voice that echoed around the building.

“Your spike in the second set! That was so cool! When you hit the ball off of our Konoha’s fingers and it bounced really hard and hit the wall—oh no don’t tell him I said it was good he’ll punch me for that. But it really was cool! I don’t think I could’ve done that so late into the game!” 

The other player, a first year middle blocker, looked momentarily stunned, his flowing tears stopping for a second. Bokuto’s grin was as wide and honest as ever. Hastily, the first year dried his tears with the back of his hand and straightened, staring Bokuto in the face. “I-I’m…gonna be the ace!”

Bokuto laughed heartily and clapped him on the shoulder. “ _Ganbatte_ ,” he said, no trace of sarcasm and ingenuity in his expression. 

The Kawahori player must have seen it too, because a hint of a smile formed on his lips as he ran back to his downtrodden team.

Akaashi started to smile too, watching the interaction with their supposed opponents. “Bokuto-san, we have to line up,” he called out, tugging on Bokuto’s arm. 

_“Good” was for characters in happy endings and fiction_

_Until i knew you_

Together they left the court, after thanking their audience who had passionately supported them throughout the whole match. Silently, Akaashi thanked them once more for helping raise Bokuto’s spirits with their cheers.

After they packed their things, Bokuto slung an arm over Akaashi’s shoulders without warning and pulled him closer, leading them towards the exit while the rest of the team followed behind.

“Akaaaaaaashiiiiii~”

“What is it, Bokuto-san?” 

“I’m tired,” he whined, looping both arms across Akaashi’s neck from behind and letting the younger boy carry his weight. “Carry me to the bus, Akaashi.” 

Akaashi pretended to sigh in exasperation to hide the stutter of his breath. “No. You’re heavy and it’s too hot,” he said, but made no move to shove Bokuto off. 

Bokuto straightened with a pout. “Fine, but let me sleep on your shoulder on the way back at least!” 

Oh, he had the puppy eyes on, and Akaashi found himself unable to refuse. He forced his gaze away from Bokuto’s only when they had to board the bus, and even that felt like ripping a piece of his soul out.

Bokuto slid into the seat beside him once Akaashi was all settled in and fidgeting with his tangled earphones. He was silent again, almost pensive—for it to happen twice in one day put Akaashi’s nerves on edge.

“Is there something troubling you, Bokuto-san?” he asked, putting away his earphones. 

“Hey, Akaashi,” Bokuto pursed his lips. “Have you ever…doubted playing volleyball? Wait, is that the word? Did I use ‘doubted’ correctly?” 

_Doubted volleyball??? Is Bokuto-san starting to question his abilities again? But why? Today was such a good match I thought he’d be over the moon—_

“Akaashi? You there?” He waved a hand in front of Akaashi’s face.

 _Don’t panic, he hasn’t said anything yet._ “Ah, yes, Bokuto-san, that was the correct usage. But if I may ask…what brought this on?”

Bokuto dropped his head onto Akaashi’s left shoulder. He said with a slight pout, “Y’know, I’ve been thinking lately—don’t look at me like that Akaashi!—I think I used to doubt myself a lot? Way more than I do now! Especially in first year when you weren’t there yet—I mean, no one would toss to me, so I practiced extra hard every day to get _really_ good!” 

Akaashi slowly nodded, his heart squeezing.

“And—don’t get me wrong I didn’t start to hate volleyball or anything! Just sometimes when I didn’t get to play it would feel…less fun, you know?” 

Akaashi knew. He didn’t have that big of a connection with the sport after all, before seeing Bokuto that day.

He’d always loved the feeling of tossing, but today was the first time he’d felt he _loved_ the sport—the teamwork, the competition, the hours of grueling practice leading up to something great, the _victory_.

“But after I spiked that straight today and the blockers couldn’t even get a one touch on it, I felt really powerful, Akaashi! Especially since you were with me.” Bokuto pulled away and placed his hands on Akaashi’s shoulders, staring him in the face “So I realized something. Wanna guess what it is?”

Akaashi’s breath felt stuck in his lungs. He wouldn’t be able to guess, much less utter anything coherent. He choked out, “What is it?” 

Then Bokuto smiled his wide, wide grin that rivaled the sun and all the stars in the sky. 

“I really love volleyball!!”

_Before there was you_

_Love was just a word, not an inexplicable truth_

Akaashi’s heart suddenly felt lighter than air and warmer than flames, and any blunt, snarky comment he might have given flew out the window.

He smiled a genuine smile. It curled his lips just slightly and rested gently on his face. “That’s good, Bokuto-san.”

Suddenly Bokuto’s eyes widened and for a whole minute he seemed to be in a state of shock.

“Akaashi,” he whispered, in awe, “Your smile is really pretty,” before he cut himself off with a huge yawn.

Red erupted on Akaashi’s cheeks and spread all the way to the tips of his ears and down his neck. _Damn it, Bokuto-san._ He turned his head away and pulled Bokuto’s head back on his shoulder. “Just…go to sleep.” 

He hid a blooming grin behind his hand as he gazed out the window, Bokuto snoring away and drooling on his shoulder within seconds. Akaashi knew he should’ve felt disgusted by the wet patch of saliva, but all he felt was warmth, and he shifted to allow Bokuto to lean on him more comfortably.

Bokuto snuggled in closer, pressing his nose to Akaashi’s neck unconsciously. _Oh my god._ He nearly let out a noise as his heart skipped a beat and threatened to break right out of his chest.

Akaashi sighed once more against his hand. There was a spotlight on Bokuto Koutarou, and by extension, on volleyball.

He heard it in the rare moments of silence, and the more frequent loudness; felt it in their late afternoon practices and echoing like a gentle breeze on his way home. He saw _it_ through the glare of his phone screen, 3 am and texting Bokuto about anything and nothing, when Bokuto remained the only light illuminating his darkness. 

_I love him._

He froze. Wait—love?

He’s fucked. Akaashi was absolutely fucked but he had never been one to cling onto false hope. There was no use denying what he’d known for months now.

He was undeniably, inexplicably, in love with Bokuto Koutarou.

(“Ah, um, Bokuto-san.” The spiker turned around with a questioning hum. “I should apologize for something.”

“Eh?! What did you do, Akaashi? Did you forget something in the gym? Wait, should we tell them to go back—“

Akaashi interrupted Bokuto’s frantic waving with a barely perceptible sigh. “No, please calm down. It’s just—back then during the game. For a moment, I—“

A large hand ruffled his hair. “Akaaaaasshiii, you’re thinking too much again!” Akaashi looked up, slightly irritated, to see a grin too earnest directed straight at him. “Don’t worry about it, you did what you thought was best.” 

“No, that’s the thing, I—“

“The important thing is you had fun! Volleyball is really fun, isn’t it, Akaashi? Do you have fun when we play together too?”

_Fun, huh._

“I do, Bokuto-san,” he said, no trace of sarcasm or ingenuity in his expression.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man writing a volleyball match was a new experience BUT ITS HERE!!!!! THE “WE ARE THE PROTAGONISTS OF THE WORLD MOMENT”!!!! In case it wasn’t obvious I think that moment when bokuto realized he loved volleyball (from his dialogue to tsukki in training camp arc) was the same moment akaashi realized he loved bokuto (from holy grail chapter 331) and I wanted to write my own interpretation of what went on in that match 
> 
> thank you for reading loves ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! This is the product of my bokuaka brainrot and my 4 am brain so . hopefully you enjoyed :) 
> 
> I’m gonna try to update this as fast as I can but I can’t guarantee it’ll be really fast since juggling school and writing is .. hard as hell,,,, but thank u if you’re willing to be patient and stick with me <3333
> 
> comments are very appreciated i love you


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